


A Storm is Coming

by Miss_Lala



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: BAMF John, BAMF Mycroft, Child Abuse, Child!Eurus, Child!John, Fluff and comedy too, Its gonna be dark and violent probably, Jim is level headed, John is child leader of our little troop, Kid Fic, Magnussen has a child army, Sherlock Loves John, Sherlock just wants Mycroft, Sort Of, child!Sherlock - Freeform, child!moriarty, i don’t know how to tag, protective!John
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-04
Updated: 2018-04-04
Packaged: 2019-04-18 11:02:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14211744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miss_Lala/pseuds/Miss_Lala
Summary: Sherlock is turning seven in three days. Or, Thomas is. But Sherlock is only ever Thomas to Magnussen and the quiet servants with no names. To Jim, Erus and Sherlock, he's still Sherlock. And he knows he doesn't belong here. But being thrown into the closet hurts. And Sherlock hates the dark. So he pretends that he's Thomas. He watches the outside from his small barred window so high up he has to stand on boxes to see out. He dreams of a dog and a man called Mycroft. But he doesn't believe he'll ever get to see if they're real or not.Sherlock is scared even if he doesn’t let it show. But then he meets John Watson and John isn't scared of anything.





	A Storm is Coming

**Author's Note:**

> First off. I haven’t published fan fiction for years. Whoops. Hey, hello, I am alive!
> 
> So as you can probably tell this story involves some dark themes. (Read and heed the tags please!) that being said the story in itself isn't too dark. Also Erus isn't biologically related to our dearest Holmes in this story. 
> 
> The way this chapter reads is supposed to be a bit of an introduction. The next chapters will be more actual interaction and such. I hope it’s vaguley interesting.
> 
> I love John. And Eurus. She just want to play with scissors. Leave the poor dear alone.

Sherlock doesn't know how long he's lived in this great big house. He's asked Jim but Jim hates anything to do with time and just glowers at him. He does know that Eurus came two years after him. She could barely walk. She can walk now, and talk (he's heard her before, twice), and cut things up. Eurus is five. So Sherlock thinks that Thomas must be turning seven. He isn't sure if Sherlock is turning seven but he supposes that seven might be right.

  
Thomas is an enigma. Sherlock knows that Thomas isn't who he is. He hadn't known that he was Sherlock for a long time, though. He sometimes heard a deep voice whisper Sheryl in his dreams and for a bit he traced that onto his forearm whenever he was kneeling in time out. It kept the shadows at bay. It wasn't until Thomas turned six and was allowed to play in the library with Jim that Sherlock was born.

  
A dusty name book had held little interest until he flipped into the S section. Sherlock was supposedly a girls name. Sherlock didn't mind that at all. Sherlock felt much better than Thomas had ever felt.

  
Sherlock had managed to sneak the book away into his room and when he couldn't sleep at night he opened it up and peered at the lettering. Sherlock.

  
He kept Sherlock quiet.

  
He just knew that Sherlock would fall under “bad things”. Like finding secret passages, or going into rooms he wasn't supposed to (even when they were open), or talking to the servants.

  
It might be even worse than pointing out that Magnussen was wrong.

  
Whenever he was really bad he was locked in time out.

  
Closets weren't the nicest place to kneel. Especially when they were over crowded with unknown objects that bit into his shoulders and back. It was so dark. Sherlock hates that dark the most. More than being slapped or yelled at.

  
It's probably why Magnussen did it.

  
Sherlock knew Jim wasn't put into the closet. Jim was scared the most of fire. Sherlock had never watched Jim get punished. It wasn't often that he was. But if he ever crossed a line he was dragged out of the room.

  
Sometimes Sherlock could hear his screams.

  
But he always saw the scars afterword when Jim was sobbing in his bed. They littered his back in the soft glow of the moonlight that trickled in through the window. They were never particularly large and always in places that didn't show when clothed.

  
Whenever Jim was punished Sherlock knelt at his bed and interlocked their fingers. Jim held on real tight every time until he fell into fitful dreams. They never spoke about it though.

 

 

Eurus was never punished. Though Sherlock thought that might be because Eurus never did much. She only ever sat around and cut into things she found.

  
Sometimes she stared at you and that wasn't a pleasant experience.

  
She'd done that to Magnussen once. He'd kept calling to her. She'd ignored him. He had pulled her up by a pigtail and Sherlock was sure that he was going to hit her. But then she stared at him.

  
It was the strangest thing Sherlock had ever seen.

  
The silence was chock full of tension. No one moved, not even Sherlock from where he knelt across the room with his encyclopedia.

  
Magnussen dropped her and walked away without a word.

  
From that day Eurus was mostly ignored.

  
Sherlock thought that she would end up gone, like Denise and Arnold. But she stayed, dragging her rabbit after her. He didn't understand why until they were taken out one day, for a mission.

  
Apparently leaving Eurus standing idly on a sidewalk was a surefire way to distract others. She played the role Sherlock had reluctantly played before, but better. Doll-like children could draw adults to them like moths to a flame. But, more so than that, Eurus never spoke. Sherlock knew she could. She just never did. She just dragged them off somewhere where the goons could slit their throats and hide them away.

  
Sherlock hadn't been very good at that. He couldn't help but open his mouth. His appearance was quickly clouded by his personality. Eurus didn't have a personality.

  
She was perfect.

  
Sherlock grew attached to Eurus. He couldn't explain it. Waking up to see her standing by his bed staring at him should have spooked him (it spooked Jim). But night after night she was standing there. So, finally, he lifted his sheets. Eurus climbed in and laid next to him, pulling at her rabbit’s ears. She stared at the ceiling. Sherlock would cover her up and fall asleep to her still staring at the ceiling.

  
Jim thought she might murder him one day.

  
Sherlock was pretty sure she wouldn't.

  
Though he did concede that she would probably cut him up if she found his dead body.

  
Sherlock shrugged it off, if he was dead he didn't need his body did he?

 

 

He'd told Jim about Sherlock first. Jim had seemed skeptical but never said anything against it out loud except that Sherlock should keep it quiet. Sherlock had called him dumb, obviously he would.

  
Eurus had found out in her own way. In bed one night she'd turned to look at him and tugged on his sleeve. She whispered Sherlock. Sherlock whispered Eurus. 

Jim still thought he was nuts.

 

 

Mycroft represented hope. A dream. Sherlock didn't know if Mycroft really existed or not. His name book had been flipped open to a non-Sherlock page and as he flipped through it he spotted it. Mycroft.

  
Sherlock new instantly that this name was important. He linked the voice in his dreams to Mycroft though he was unsure if the two were connected at all. Mycroft could have been a tv star, or a mailman, or anything.

  
No matter how many reasons he found that concluded that Mycroft wasn't anyone Sherlock still couldn't push it out of his head. And when he was in the closet so long that tracing his name in his arm no longer worked he mumbled Mycroft’s name under his breath and begged silently that he would come and save Sherlock.

  
Sherlock told no one about Mycroft.

 

 

When Sherlock was stood on boxes, tip-toeing and resting his cheek on his crossed arms to stare outside he often dreamed desperately.

  
If he tried maybe he could get out.

  
But there was grass for so long and then a forest. Only one clear road that they drove out on whenever they left.   
If he broke out where would he go?

  
He didn't think he could even get to the forest.

  
And then, of course, there was Jim and Eurus. He wouldn't leave them. And he knew Jim wouldn't go if he wasn't completely sure that they had a good chance.

  
Sherlock learned to swallow against the hopeless sensation.

  
He was too small.

  
Maybe when he was older.

 

 

John was the most breathtaking thing Sherlock had ever seen.

  
He screamed and fought and threw off three guards.

  
His face was scrunched up and he was bruised and bloody. Even with Magnussen’s condescension and the adults that struggled with him John wouldn't stop.

  
He called Magnussen a rotten bitch-face.

  
John was like a storm.

  
When he was hit hard enough that he was knocked out Magnussen stepped over him.

  
“This is your new brother. His name is John. He's rowdy but soon he'll calm down. Jim, take him to the bedroom he'll bunk with you two.”

  
Sherlock watched Magnussen walk out of the room.

  
He didn't think that storms could be tamed.

  
Warmth built at the center of his chest.

  
He hurried to help Jim.

  
Maybe…


End file.
